


Small Steps

by Assassin_J



Series: desmond is trans and also it's protocreed sometimes [2]
Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Adolescence, Alternate Universe - Trans, Brief Non-graphic Sexual Content, Canon Trans Character, Coming Out, Content Warning in Specific Chapters, Desmond is unsure on his orientation, Gen, Gender Dysphoria, In case you were wondering, M/M, POV Desmond, POV First Person, Parent-Child Relationship, Pre-Assassin's Creed, Puberty Sucks, The Farm (Assassin's Creed), Trans Male Character, Trans Man Desmond Miles, Transitioning, mild violence, minor OCs - Freeform, people are overall pretty chill tho, some transphobia, there will be absolutely ZERO mpreg i promise
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-17
Updated: 2017-02-28
Packaged: 2018-05-01 21:57:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 16,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5222414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Assassin_J/pseuds/Assassin_J
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Adolescence- a time of confusion, upheaval, rebellion, self-discovery, and revelations.</p><p>A sequence of vignettes outlining the journey of one D. Miles.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> disclaimer: a trans man I'm not, so if I fuck anything up feel free to let me know

**April 1999**

 

"Denise! Breakfast!"

The sudden cheerful voice broke into my train of thought and made me drop my comb. "Dammit, Mom, I'm fixing my hair!" I shouted, trying to bend down and retrieve it without gravity messing up my carefully-calculated part.

"You spend too much time on your hair!" she called back. "Why can't you care as much about history lessons or stealth practice as your hair?"

I stared into my eyes in the mirror. _Maybe she's got a point_ , I thought. _Maybe I shouldn't obsess like this. I mean, futzing with your hair for half an hour to make it look perfect is a chick thing, right?_ I'd seen Dad's hair routine many times: a perfunctory pass or two with the comb as he headed out the door in the morning.

But then again Dad was **Dad**. He didn't have to put effort into making himself look rough and uncute. He was a fifty-some-year-old man, not a pre-teen... cosmic fuckup.

 _Plus he's got the beard._ I set down the comb and leaned closer into the mirror, rubbing a knuckle over my lip. _I wonder if the nerds at Abstergo have invented any beard-growing pills?_

"Deniiiiise!" The shrill voice came again. "Órale, don't make me call you a third time!"

I winced. _Shit, no._ I was sick to death of hearing that name. _I never wanna be called that again._ My fists clenched and I turned away from the mirror. _Then fuckin' do something about it, stupid! They can't read your mind!_

 

* * *

 

"Mom?"

"Yes, sweetie?"

I didn't exactly love being called "sweetie", but it was miles better than "Denise". I poked at my cream of wheat, purposefully not looking at her. "Um... Nothing is true, right?"

"And everything is permitted," she answered, the words automatic, almost cold.

"So, uh..." Fuck. I'd rehearsed this on my way down the stairs, but now my mind was blank for some reason. "Uh..."

"What is it?" Dad was irritable. I knew why. It was because I'd started a conversation and now I wasn't able to finish it. He always stressed the importance of following through, finishing what you start, never going half measure.

So I forced myself to keep going, trying not to worry if I didn't phrase it perfectly. "I, um... well, if nothing is true, can I change my name?"

"You don't like the name Denise?" Mom sounded personally hurt. "It's from a famous French Assassin!"

"Janet, please," Dad said calmly, holding up one hand.

I looked up from my bowl. Was he actually going to support me?

"She was a hero in World War Two!"

"Janet," he said again. "We use aliases all the time. Hell, even that French namesake 'Denise' was an alias, if I recall correctly."

"Aliases are for field agents, Bill," Mom sighed, flicking a fruit fly away from her plate, "not twelve-year-olds in training."

"What's the harm?" Dad said with a shrug.

"Oh all right," Mom acquiesced. Then she looked at me with an unsteady smile. "What alias would you like, then?"

I swallowed, then summoned up all my confidence and put it into the next syllable I said: "D."

"D?" Dad frowned. "Bit obvious for an alias, isn't it?"

"It's not an alias, Dad!" _But isn't it, though?_ something in my mind said. _It's not your real name. It's a fake name. That makes it an alias. And you're not even man enough to ask for a manly alias._

 _Shut up,_ _shut up, shut up! We went over this already, brain! I gotta do it little by little! And I haven't fucking figured out my final name, okay?! "D" is a compromise that's way less girly!_

"Dee Miles," Mom repeated hesitantly. "Is that... D-E-E?"

"No, just- just the letter," I said, looking into my bowl again, feeling stupid. I immediately waffled, though. "Or whatever, I don't care. I, uh... I might wanna change it again later anyway."

"Suit yourself." Dad patted my shoulder- more like just brushed the tips of his fingers against my shirt- but I got the message and smiled at him.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> feat. cameo by one of faktririjekt's OCs
> 
> faktririjekt also helped with error-checking this chapter c:

"Dee-dee! Breakfast!"

"Mo-ooom! I told you it's D! Not Dee-dee!" I yelled, taking the stairs two at a time down to the kitchen.

"Sorry, hon." Mom poured out a glass of orange juice and set it down for me. "I just think Dee-dee sounds nicer."

I didn't answer, just started in on breakfast. 

"Bill's gone out on-"

"On a mission, yeah." I frowned at the empty chair across the table. "He's always on a mission."

"Not always," Mom said.

"Almost always," I retorted.

She continued calmly slicing her banana into her cereal bowl. "Well, he's a very important man. And there are very important things going on right now."

I rolled my eyes. "Why're you talking to me like I'm five? Can't you tell me any real details?"

Mom sighed. "All right, I suppose I should fill you in a little." She looked at me with undue seriousness. "He's leading a team that's going to find Ezio's Codex."

 _Codex._ I'd heard that word before, usually in hushed, overly-reverent tones. "You mean his journals and stuff. His diary."

She half-rolled her eyes. "Yes, but it's very important."

"Oh really?" God, people thought everything about this Ezio guy was important. If there was a stash of his toenail clippings somewhere in the heart of Templar territory, retrieving them would probably be important too. "If some diary from a thousand years ago is so important, then why'd we never get around to finding it before now?" I asked her, smug and triumphant.

"Five hundred years, dear, not a thousand." She sipped at her orange juice. "And we have tried to locate it before, but it wasn't quite as high a priority. Now, there's..." Her eyes broke contact with mine, looked into her cereal bowl.

"There's what?"

"Well..." She stirred her cereal fitfully. "There's reports coming in. Predictions of, possibly... a repeat First Disaster." She glanced back to me. "Have you learned about that in school yet?"

"That's the thing where all the First Civs died," I said flatly, trying not to let on how stupid I thought that myth was. Ancient gods keeping cavemen enslaved with their magic gold jewelry? It was even more ridiculous than the Templar conspiracy stuff.

"Right," Mom said, smiling softly, perhaps proud that I'd actually retained some of my history lessons for once. "Well, we think Ezio's Codex might have the key to stopping the First Disaster from happening a second time."

 _Sure, some dusty old book is gonna stop the planet from exploding._ "Cool, okay." I shoveled down the last of my cereal and stood up, but then had to sit down again with a soft "Uugh."

"You all right?"

"It's just a stomachache suddenly."

"Probably because you ate too fast."

"Whatever." I got up again and went to the cupboard. "Nothing a little evil Templar pill can't fix." I swallowed an ibuprofen with the last of my orange juice and waved bye to Mom as I headed out.

 

* * *

 

"And scarcely an Assassin was left alive to tell the tale." Mr. Colville sighed and laid down his book. "So. What lesson can we take from the fall of the Davenport mentorship?" He adjusted his glasses and scanned the dead-silent classroom. "Anyone have any thoughts? ...Any at all?"

Somebody a couple desks behind me coughed.

"Ah." Mr. Colville turned toward the sound, but for whatever reason, he fixated on me instead of the cougher. "Denise, what do you think?"

"Uh..." My voice was dry and froggy, but I managed to get out, "D."

"Pardon?"

"It's D, Mr. Colville," spoke up the cougher and I recognized the voice. It was a friend of mine; Samantha, or "Sam" as she preferred. I turned to shoot her a tiny smile.

Mr. Colville was confused. "What's D?"

"My name's D," I said, finally finding my voice. "Not Denise, just D. The letter D."

"Hrm." Mr. Colville tapped his fingers on his desk. "Well, 'D', what are your thoughts on the subject?"

I looked back down at my textbook. Sometimes history class was mind-numbingly boring, but today.... Today we were learning about some jackass ex-Assassin that went rogue and murdered his former brothers. (And sisters even.) This lesson was sticking in my mind, making my stomach hurt more. I tried to not think too much about the sad shittiness of what happened with Shay. That was all in the past, and the Brotherhood had long since bounced back. "Umm. I think maybe Achilles shoulda sent someone else instead of his most novice Assassin to go grab the Piece of Eden?"

Mr. Colville sighed. "Perhaps he should've." He raised his voice to address the rest of the class, though he didn't really need to, since there weren't even two dozen of us in the little classroom. "Does anyone else have any deeper insights?" The bell rang over the end of his sentence, and kids started springing out of their desks. "Maybe you all will think about it and we'll discuss more on Thursday!"

Sam caught up to me as I was tossing my textbook back on the shelf. "Hey, D!"

"Hey, Sam."

She must have picked up on something in my voice that I didn't even know was there. "What's wrong?"

"Huh? Nothing's wrong." I brushed some loose hair out of my eyes. "Just glad history's over."

"Aw, history's never 'over'," she teased. "It's still going. It goes on to infinity!"

I rolled my eyes at her lame joke but chuckled nevertheless. "See you on the battlefield," I said, waving as we parted ways in the hall: she was headed outside to where our fighting practice was due to start soon, but I needed to hit the bathroom.

 

* * *

 

There was blood.

I felt sick. I couldn't move a muscle even though the seat was starting to make my butt numb.

There was _blood_ , for fuck's sake.

Someone knocked on the door. "Denise? Are you in there?"

I stayed perfectly still and didn't make a sound, just like they taught us.

Her footsteps receded away and she called "Denise" again and again, quieter and quieter until she was far enough that I didn't hear anymore.

My vision went blurry with silent tears.

Blood. My blood. Like I'd been wounded from the inside. Like I was injured. Broken.

They said something about this in health class once, didn't they? What did it mean? What was I supposed to do? Why hadn't I paid more attention?

A droplet of it fell into the toilet, raucously loud.

Then someone else knocked. "D?" It was Sam this time. "I know I saw you go in there."

A short sob escaped the confines of my throat.

"You okay?"

"No... I..."

Sam came cautiously into the bathroom. I saw her shoes- many layers of dirt over a base of orange- under the stall door.

"I need to skip fight practice today, Sam."

I heard her breath catch. "Did... did you get your period?"

 _Period._ Yes, that's what they said this was called. They told us it was a normal thing, it happens to every...

I swallowed. "Y- yeah."

"I have a pad you can use?" she offered, the tone uncertain at the end.

 _Right, Sam's a year older, this already happened to her._ My mind raced with the implications. _This happens to her every month every goddamn month it's gonna happen until I'm old and almost dead because fucking puberty, sex, boobs, kissing, dating, babies, holy shit, no, no, no!_

I sobbed again.


	3. Chapter 3

I guess someone called Mom and told her to come get me, 'cause she was there after school let out. She cried too, when she heard what happened. But she had a smile underneath her teary eyes. "Ohh, el tiempo vuela! I caaan't believe you're already at that age!"

I stared at the ground. How could she be happy about this?

"Seems like only a few years ago you were learning to walk..." She wiped her eyes, leaned over and hugged me gently. "And now you're becoming a woman."

I cringed in her arms. "Don' wanna become a woman."

She patted my back. "Well, you cannot stay a girl forever, sweetie."

I pushed out of the embrace. "Mom, I..." Shit, my throat was drying up again, just at the moment I had finally, after so long, decided what to say, figured out how to explain myself. "I..."

Mom took my hand, starting to lead me back to our house. "It's the way of the world, hon. Everyone grows up, Assassins included."

I physically couldn't respond. Just picking my feet up and moving them forward was a herculean effort; there wasn't energy to spare for talking. My life was draining. My blood was dripping. I could feel it, the ugly wetness taunting me, reminding me of the truth. The facts of life. Girls had _this_ between their legs, and boys had _that_. Was I so stupid that I couldn't grasp as basic a concept as that?

I nearly tripped over an exposed tree root. It was the big oak out front of our house. _Fucking- this tree has been here for years, and I still get surprised by that root half the time! Maybe I am stupid._

Mom noticed my dazed state. "Puberty's given you a lot to think about, huh?"

"Yeah," I managed to say.

"It's a load on my mind as well." She sighed thoughtfully. "You'll probably start needing bras soon."

 _Shit._ My chest started to feel weird when she said that, and I half expected to start sprouting boobs right that second. I had to pat down my shirt quickly to make sure it was all in my head. "No. I don't wanna wear any bras."

She smiled, her expression silently chiding me. "Mira, you will need proper support. Especially during training, all that running around and-"

"No." I stopped at our front door and turned to her, clenching my fists. "I... I don't want any of it. The bleeding, the bras, the breasts, anything."

"Oh?" She put a hand on her hip. "You'd rather stay a preteen girl forever?"

My body shook. "I..."

"Denise, you-" Mom caught herself, sighed, and began again. " **D**. You have to accept that you are growing up." She knelt down. "I know puberty isn't fun, and it's especially not fun for girls-"

"Stop calling me a girl." Ah! There it was: my confident voice, or semi-confident at least. I had to say it already, get it out in the open.

She stopped, mouth ajar. "Eh?"

I wiped a few lingering tears off my cheek. "I know this is weird, but... I can't think of myself as a girl. Or a woman."

"Well, you are at a sort of in-between age right now-"

"Dammit, Mom!" I grabbed her hand. "I mean I'm a guy, okay?"

She blinked at me.

I took a breath, steadying myself. "Yeah, I know I have, like, girl privates," my voice threatened to give out again but I pushed on through, "but I- I'm a guy."

My hand was shaking, and so was hers, a little bit. She looked at me, wide-eyed, like I was some strange new person. I saw the disordered jumble of my self-cut hair reflected in her deep brown eyes.

"That's why, Mom. That's why I'm going by 'D', why I..." I gestured vaguely up and down my body. "Because that fits better."

Mom let out a single gasping sob. "Oh, sweetie." She hugged me again. "I understand."

"You understand? Really?" _No way she's swallowing it that easy!_ "You don't think I'm crazy? You don't think it's weird?"

She pulled back from the hug and smiled gently. "It's unusual, yes. But not unheard of."

Now it was my turn to be staggered by new information. "You've heard of... people like me?"

"I've even met a couple of them."

"Met?!" My mind scrolled through a rolodex of the other Farm residents. "Anybody I know?" I asked, almost hopeful.

"There is one man you may have met once or twice." She stood up. "Though perhaps you were a little too young to remember."

I followed her inside, begging eagerly. "Who is it? **Who?** "

"Ohh. I'm not too sure I should tell you his name specifically." She moved down the hallway, graceful, fluid, purposeful. "Since it is a sort of personal detail... like being gay, ¿ya sabes?"

This didn't deter my raging curiosity. "Tell me about him! Is he my age or older? He's older, right? What did he do when he- y'know, puberty?"

"Personal details, child," she reiterated, reaching for a book on the shelf by the stairs.

"Aw, Mom! I gotta know this stuff! If there's a surgery or a pill or something that he got to fix-"

"Personal details that I don't know," she said firmly.

"Oh." I deflated. "Well... okay."

She smiled. "Mira, I'll look into what steps we can take to make you more comfortable with your body, and meanwhile, you can look through here." She showed me what she'd taken off the shelf. It was bright blue and titled _What to Name Your Baby: From Adam to Zoe_.

"What the-"

"You did say you might not stick with 'D', right?" She slid the book into my quizzical hands. "Maybe you'll find an inspiration in here."

I didn't really wanna look through that book at first. Not sure why, exactly. But after having dinner, and... eugh... changing out the pad... I figured maybe it might cheer me up. So I settled into the big soft armchair in the sitting room and began my search.

My search for a name that was "me".

 

* * *

 

 _Diego? It's Spanish; Mom'll appreciate that. But then again if she cared about me having a Spanish name, she'd've named me Dolores or something. Maybe... 'Dorian, from the ill-fated protagonist of Oscar Wilde's novel...' Nah. Don't want anything "ill-fated"._ I flipped away from the D section. _Maybe I oughtta branch out my options from just that one letter._ The alphabet flew past: Edward, Ethan, Eric, Francisco, Frederic, Gerald, Grayson, Heathcliff, Henry-

"Denise."

My head jolted up in surprise at the subtly angry voice. "Dad! Don't call me-"

"Denise, D, whatever," Dad cut in. He was frowning heavily at the book. "I was not informed you were pregnant." 

"I'm not!" I dropped the book like it was suddenly burning my hands. "Really, I'm not!"

He sighed. "If you are, then we need to discuss-"

"Geesh, Dad, I'm seriously not, okay?!"

"Hrm." He eyed me up and down, then plucked the book away and flipped through it briefly, as if maybe expecting something hidden to fall out from between the pages.

"I thought you were out looking for that codex," I mumbled, shrinking back into the ginormous armchair. It was plush and familiar. Comforting. Unchanging. 

"And I thought you weren't sexually active," Dad flung back. "Seems we're both surprisingly ahead of schedule." His tone was sharp with dissatisfaction.

So he thought I was pregnant at twelve. Should I tell him the truth or would he think that even worse? Sure, Mom had been cool with it, but Mom was _Mom_ and Dad was _Dad_. They were like polar opposites sometimes. _Then again, he might be a jerk but he's a jerk whose whole life revolves around the Creed. And if nothing is true and everything's permitted, then it's not true I'm a girl and I'm permitted to be a guy instead._ I looked down in my lap, wringing my hands. "P- please don't flip out... I just-"

"I've heard enough." Dad snapped the book shut and stepped out to the hallway. "Janet? Do you know anything about this? What's our timeline? If she's already picking out its name-"

Tinkling laughter cut through his seriousness. "Bill, believe me, D is not pregnant! She's-" Mom made a quiet little "oh" and then corrected herself. " **He** is deciding on a name for **him** self."

"...Come again?"

"D's transgender."

"Is that what I am?" I asked, my voice thin and reedy. So there was a word for it, was there? A word besides "freak" or "mix-up" or "insane"...

Mom stepped into view in the doorway. "Yes, sweetie. Oh." She covered her mouth. "What's a more machismo word for 'sweetie'?"

I giggled. "Dunno. I'll think about it."

Dad, for his part, was frozen still, arms rigidly crossed and jaw slightly slack. He'd been like that since that word- _transgender_ \- had fallen from Mom's lips. "S- she's..."

Mom looked to him, brown eyes locking on grey. "He's."

"He's..." Dad's arms loosened; he leaned forward a bit, examining me. "Like... our Scottish friend?"

"Is he Scottish?" Mom made a little "huh" noise. "I didn't realize."

"Scottish friend?" I got up from the chair. "That the guy you were talking about?"

She nodded.

Dad exhaled and closed his eyes for the first time in a couple minutes. "So I have a son now instead of a daughter." He ran a hand through his hair. "When did this happen? Just the other day when you asked us to call you 'D'?"

"I..." My mouth wavered. "I've been... like this... for a while. Inside." I gestured at my head, at my heart. I couldn't quite articulate how long that "while" had been. Years, at least. "I'm sorry I never told you before."

"He'd been keeping his feelings all locked up, Bill," Mom said. "Until this morning. He... started his period." She turned to me. "And that was the last straw, was it?"

"Y-yeah." I rubbed my arm nervously. "My, uh, puberty is starting. And I don't want it to. And I'm gonna need help to get through it, or stop it, or change it from a woman puberty to a man puberty, if that's even possible." I looked up at Dad. "So, this Scottish friend of yours."

"Mm." Dad nodded for me to continue.

"Mom said I've met him a couple times?"

"Mm."

I smiled, for the first time in what felt like forever. "Well, uh... I'd like to meet him again."


	4. Chapter 4

"Must you read that at the dinner table?"

Dad was frowning slightly as I peeked up from behind _What To Name Your Baby._ "Hey, I wanna have my name all picked out before I introduce myself to Manly McBuffpants," I explained. Dad had said he would contact the guy, but wouldn't tell me his name, apparently sticking to the same non-outing principle as Mom.

"Manly Mc- oh." Dad rubbed his brow and sighed. "Please do not call him that to his face."

"What, you think he'll be offended?"

"He might; he might not. I don't know him all too well. At any rate, stop reading at the table."

"Yes, Dad." I gave in and set the book down beside me on the dining bench. "So, uh. What **do** you know about this guy?"

"He's in his twenties," Mom said, idly stirring her salad. "I think. And he was recruited after some nasty violence in his homeland."

"Violence that he was reciprocating," Dad put in, like he was countering an argument.

"From what I heard, he had good reason!" Mom said back.

Dad nodded. "But he was about to cap it off by killing himself as well, until Gavin offered him a new lease on life by joining us."

"Eat your salad, sweet-hijo," Mom interrupted.

"I did eat it." I pushed my nearly-empty bowl toward her. "Just not the carrots. They're gross."

"They're good for your vision," she countered. "Oye, eat all those carrots and you can stay home tomorrow."

"Janet! He can't just skip-"

"He's had a rough day, Bill."

"I don't wanna skip tomorrow," I said quickly.

Mom turned to me. "Are you sure? They said it's fine if you take a little sick day."

"I'm not sick, though. I mean, I've got some cramping still, but it's calmed down to a manageable level. If I skip, it'll be weird. And I don't wanna be weird, I just wanna be like the other kids."

There was an awkward pause in the conversation. I could feel a knot tightening in my chest. Because of course, there was one huge difference between me and all the other kids.

Dad got up and started clearing the table.

"You think they'll understand?" I asked suddenly. "The kids? The teachers?

"Hmph. It'll take time for them to adjust," Dad said, scrubbing the dishes, a little aggressively. "And they may never exactly 'understand'. But I can't imagine anyone being outright hostile about it."

I chewed halfheartedly on a carrot stick before giving up on it and pushing my salad bowl away. I sighed. "So I guess I gotta make an announcement or something. Like, 'Hey everyone, I'm a guy now. Well, I was before, but, uh, you know how it is, or actually no, you don't know how it is. Unless you're all secretly transgender too, which I really doubt, because apparently it's mega rare.'"

Mom chuckled, and Dad did as well. "I'll help you formulate a more cohesive announcement, if you like," he said, turning to me with a small smile.

I returned the smile. "Yeah. I'd like that a lot."

 

 

* * *

 

Five-thirty the next morning I was facing the entirety of the rest of the Farm residents. Iwondered if any of them had an inkling of the reason Dad had called them all together before morning drills today. Objectively, I guess it wasn't a whole lot of people, but still I was fighting butterflies in my stomach... though some of that feeling might have been the menstrual stuff still going on.

My parents- my surprisingly cool parents- were stood beside me, though, so I didn't feel **too** too nervous.

Dad inhaled deeply before beginning to speak, voice carrying across the courtyard loud and clear as always. "Good morning, Assassins."

"Good morning, Mentor," they all answered back, more-or-less in unison.

"Very important news today." He stopped for a brief second- maybe he was nervous too, in his own way?- but then soldiered on as confident as before. "This is my son." He put a hand firmly on my shoulder. "His name is D. You may know him by a different name, but he does not answer to that anymore."

Mrs. Callahan, one of our instructors, raised her hand and spoke up hesitantly, confused. "But... that's your daughter?"

Dad moved his head very very slightly to acknowledge her words, though it was far from a nod of agreement. "I thought so as well, until yesterday, when he told Janet and I quite unequivocally that he is not. And I must trust his judgement on that." His eyes swept from Mrs. Callahan, over the entire assembled crowd. "None of us can know how another person feels. None of us should impose on them **how** to feel, or how to **be** , so long as their being does not interfere with our work."

The weather was chilly, but I felt comfortable and warm. The butterflies had all flown away; I couldn't hold back my smile.

"Each human must be free to forge their own path. That, after all, is the reason for our Brotherhood's existence."

In retrospect, I could have felt miffed that he'd related this all back to the damn Brotherhood, the thing that seemingly consumed his entire life. But no: I was just so damn elated that he'd accepted me.

"Nothing is true, and everything is permitted," Dad intoned.

We all murmured the Creed back in response.

"So. To reiterate: His name is D, and he is my son."

I coughed and reminded him quietly, "Tell them I might change from 'D' later."

He glanced at me.

"The 'son' part's not gonna change, though."

"All right." He squeezed my shoulder and looked back at the crowd. "He might change his name later, but for now he is D."

A kid a few years younger than me raised and waved his hand. "Can I change my name too? I wanna be named 'Eagle'! No, 'Lightning'! No, wait! 'Lightning Eagle'!"

His mother shushed him. "Don't interrupt the Mentor, Joey."

But Dad smiled at the little kid. "If that's what you want, then yes, you absolutely can."

Lightning Eagle grinned, showing off huge gaps where his teeth were still growing in.

Dad nodded and then put back on his serious persona. "Right everyone, enough chatting." He clapped his hands sharply. "Drill time! Everyone get a move on! Laps around the perimeter, same as always!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm terribly sorry for no Eric Cooper yet but I promise our ruggedly handsome scoundrel will be in the next chapter!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _content advisory for this chapter: misgendering, deadnaming, and a homophobic slur_

We ran, same as always, warming up our bodies in the chilly pre-dawn air. I was still smiling, feeling a glow inside me from how easy the announcement had gone. Dad had told them I was a guy, and he was the Mentor, so nobody could question it. That would be tantamount to mutiny, surely.

After the run it was kind of a tradition to hit the creek, splash water on our sweaty faces, and chat with friends briefly before heading off to our other activities. I saw Sam there, and gave her a smile, a wave, and a "Hey."

"Hey," she said back. "I, uh..." She brushed her fingers through her hair nervously. "I don't really get it, D."

I wasn't sure how to respond to her at first. "Well, uh. What's there to get?"

"I don't get why you want to be a boy."

"It's not about 'wanting'." I sat on the bank of the creek and frowned at the rushing water. "Believe me, I've tried my whole life to just go along with the 'girl' thing. But it doesn't feel right."

"Oh," she said quietly.

I looked up at her. "I know it's weird, and hard to understand. For a long time I thought I was just crazy, or maybe I'd get over it someday." I shook my head. "But I never did. And finally I got to where I couldn't keep this inside me anymore. So I had to come out with it." I started to stand up.

"Come out," she repeated, blinking. "Does this mean you're... gay?"

The word hit me so shockingly I nearly lost my balance and fell into the creek. "S-shit, Sam," I sputtered. "No, it doesn't mean that. It's got nothing to do with that. I'm just... I'm just me, okay?" I started heading back to the schoolhouse and gestured for her to follow. "C'mon, we'll be late for class."

 

* * *

 

I heard some older kids talking about me after school let out. Wasn't really meaning to listen in, not until I caught a mention of Dad in the air and slunk closer to find out the context. Whattya know, they were too stupid to understand his speech this morning.

"I don't get it," said one of them, a broad, barrel-chested guy by the name of Neal. "Why not just be lesbo? We're open-minded enough here, aren't we?"

"I'm not a 'lesbo'," I said curtly to his back.

He flinched, not having been aware of my presence before, but soon recovered his poise and turned on a dime to face me. "Oh really? You sure dress like one and act like one."

"What, so wearing pants and cutting your hair short makes you lesbian? Guess you're lesbian too," I retorted, flicking my hand at him.

Neal rolled his eyes. "Well I'm not a **girl**."

"Me neither, okay?" I said, smiling, or at least trying to.

One of the other guys tapped Neal's shoulder. "Look, if she wants to be a 'he', and the Mentor's down with that, then what does it matter to you?"

"Unless you had a crush on her back when she was girl," a third guy sniggered.

Neal glared at his buddies. "It matters because you can't just ignore reality," he told them, then turned his glare on me. "Your new name doesn't make you a dude any more than Joey's new name makes him an eagle."

My patience was starting to wear thin. "That's different. He never claimed he was an eagle."

"Cause he's not stupid." Neal shoved my shoulder.

"Shut up. Or else."

"Or else what, **Denise**?" he sneered at me.

That's when I clocked him across the face.

The kids around us "oooh"ed in chorus as he fell ass-first into the dusty dirt and I planted my feet on either side of his legs, ready to strike again if he got up. At first he looked stunned, and touched his nose, finger coming away with a droplet of blood. Then his face flushed indignantly and the gears in his brain started clacking and churning. "I... I'd hit you back, but I'm a gentleman." He put on a smarmy face. "And us gentlemen don't like to hit ladies."

I growled, baring my teeth, and made to kick his stupid balls, but an instructor was there suddenly, pulling me away with a rush of chastisements.

 

* * *

 

"Like father, like son," Mom sighed. "You're too quick to anger, D."

"He brought it on himself," I contended snippily. "Calling me by my old girl name after Dad made that big announcement and stuff."

"Hitting him was not the answer," she said, her words stern.

"He called me a lesbo too!"

"Hitting him was **still** not the answer."

"What the hell **is** the answer, then?!"

"Language, mijo, language." She wagged her finger.

I breathed heavily. "What. Is. The answer?"

"The answer is that you must be patient with them." She laid a hand on my shoulder and looked softly into my eyes. "You may know in your heart that you are male, but they have known you as a girl all their lives, and the sudden change is hard to accept."

I scowled and pulled away. "They don't need to be such jerks about it."

She sighed. "Nevertheless, mijo, save the punching and kicking for fight practice."

 

* * *

 

"You needn't rush too much to pick a name," Dad said when he spotted my nose in the name book again that evening. "He won't even be here for a week or so."

I looked up. "Why?"

"He's stationed aboard the Altaïr II, and they're coming back from Russia."

"But... you said he was Scottish, right?"

Dad chuckled condescendingly. "They're a multinational team that travels the globe. Turns out some Templars had Ezio's Codex stashed in Tver. They're working on translating it, actually, while en route here."

"Quite lucky they found it, not even looking," Mom said.

Dad shrugged. "We'd heard whispers they had something, but the description was vague, alluding only to 'important records' they'd filched from our side decades ago. Imagine our surprise when we found nothing less than the Codex. Oh!" He snapped his fingers, remembering something. "Dr. Chiu is coming as well. So we can move forward to getting D started on, ah, appropriate treatment."

"Treatment?" I asked, feeling excited, but also a little apprehensive.

"Various hormones and the like."

"Hormones to... stop all the puberty stuff?"

"I don't know what all we can stop," Dad said. "Medicine is not my field. When Dr. Chiu examines you, I'm sure you can ask for more details."

"Examines me?" I shrank, hunched over the table. "Oh geez. Some gross old dude poking me all over?"

" **She** is quite young, actually," Dad said, and I could hear the frown in his voice.

"She? Oh." I lifted my head and chuckled. "Whoops. Look at me and my sexist assumptions. Still, I dunno about this 'examination' business. Does she have to, like, look at me... down there?"

"Probably not, but again, it's not my field," Dad snapped back. "So I can't make any promises."

I stared at the floor, wondering whether this "treatment" would be worth it.

Mom seemed to sense my discomfort, and, much to my relief, she started a new line of conversation. "¿Te acuerdas, Bill, when I was pregnant? And I thought we were having a girl, and you thought a boy? I must apologize now for, ah, cómo se dice, gloating. You were right after all."

I looked up, suddenly bright-eyed. "Did you have a boy name picked out for me?"

Mom tapped her chin. "I believe it was 'Francisco'."

"Huh. Francisco Miles."

Dad nodded. "Shall we go with that, then?"

"I... uh. I don't think so. Sorry." His shoulders slumped. "Sorry," I said again. "It's, it's a decent enough name. But it doesn't really feel right."

"No, that's fine." Dad exhaled.

 

* * *

 

When I came home after school one day next week I heard an unfamiliar voice coming from the study. "No telling how long they'd had it stashed away there."

Dad's voice answered him. "It seems in quite good condition, which is fortunate."

"As you can see, much of it is written in odd code. Reckon he got that from da Vinci."

I looked into the room and saw Dad examining an old brown book with aged pages. The mystery man at the table opposite him was young and lean, with earthy brown hair held up in a bandana-headband thing. Hearing me walk in, he looked up and smiled brightly. "Well hello there! D, right?"

"Uh, yeah." I gave him a loose wave of my hand. "Hi."

"I've heard a lot about ye."

There was something about his voice. His accent... _Oh._ My jaw dropped and my heart pounded. "A-are you..." I swallowed. "...the Scottish guy?"

He laughed. "You've heard about me as well, eh?"

"Uh. Some." His beard looked incredible. I tried not to stare at it. "I, uh, don't know your name, though."

"Eric Cooper." He leaned over to shake my hand. "Pleased tae meet ye."

"D Miles," I said, then immediately clamped my jaw shut. _Yeah, tell him your name again when he already fucking knows it, dumbass._

He must have seen my mild embarassment, because he laughed gently. "Ah, dinna fash yourself, laddie. It's a good name; not spoiled by a second saying."

I shook my head. "It's not a good name. It's shit. Just a placeholder, really."

"Ahh," Eric said, nodding sagely.

Dad made a small noise in his throat. "Yes, as I mentioned before, Mr. Cooper, D is, ah, new at this. I thought perhaps you might stay a while and..."

Eric picked up where Dad had trailed off. "Give moral support?"

"Guidance, advice, that sort of thing, yes."

"Certainly." Eric smiled at me again. "Can't in good conscience leave him to figure all this out on his own, ken?"

Dad gestured to the book on the table. "The translation, of course, remains your first priority."

"Aye, of course."

I frowned. "Musty old book more important than me, is it?"

"D," Dad said, drawing the syllable out with irritation. "I have told you before the significance of this Codex. Our very lives may hang on our speedy translation of it."

"Okay, so some famous Assassin wrote it, but he's dead now, and so're all the Templars from back then! Who effing cares!"

"Perhaps you're too self-centered to grasp this, but there is a larger threat out there than simply Templars."

"Sure, whatever." I waved dismissively and stomped out.

Dad smacked his hand on the table. "You come back here young la- _man_! Young man!"

 _Young lady_ , he'd nearly called me. Force of habit, probably, but still, it really hurt. I sniffed back tears and walked faster until I was outside, then started jogging, heading for the trail. Exercise would help me forget my troubles... for the time being at least.


	6. Chapter 6

I ran and I ran, all along the trail well-worn by countless feet over the years, until physical exhaustion deadened me all over and I had to collapse, falling on my knees in the creekside sand.

Breath came heavy and panting as my body tried to regain equilibrium. My heart thudded painfully, sore in my chest.

Chest. I shuddered. That one word started a cascade of thoughts: _"You'll probably start needing bras soon." "I don't know what all we can stop." "Your new name doesn't make you a dude!"_

"No, no, cut it out," I said aloud, shaking my head to clear the negativity. "There's hope. That Scottish guy's in his twenties and he doesn't have boobs; not that I can see. Nobody's ever gonna call him a lady. Oh **crap**." I realized just at that moment how stupid I'd been, throwing my dumbass little tantrum in front of Eric. "Way to go, loser." I smacked my face. "That's basically the only guy who can help you out, and you had to act like a whiny baby right after meeting him."

"Och, D, all right there?"

I stiffened and looked around. Speak of the devil, there he was, just ten or so yards away up the path, trotting toward me. I got up and tried not to look like I'd been crying. "Whatever. M'fine."

"Ye sure?" he asked me.

I didn't answer right away, but took a minute to breathe and get my emotions back under control. Eric had taken his windbreaker off and tied it around his waist. Underneath that he had only a tank top. Again, I tried not to stare. "Fine. I'm fine. I just..." I shrugged. "Don't get along with my dad sometimes. Y'know?"

"He does care for you, laddie, that much I can tell. You could do far worse for a father than him."

I sighed. "Yeah, I know."

Eric smiled and gestured for me to follow him. We headed back into the central area and wound up sitting together on a small hill, just people-watching as the other denizens of the Farm went about their afternoon routines.

After about fifteen minutes of small talk bullshit (apparently the weather here was way nicer than Russia this time of year) there came a lull in the conversation, and I finally found it in myself to bring up the issue he was here for. "So, um... Transgender." The term was still a little clumsy on my tongue. "We're both... _transgender._ "

"Aye." Eric took a calm slow breath. "Doesn't make us any less men, though. Remember that."

I quit watching the people milling around in the distance and looked at him. "Really? Tell it to the other kids at school. Some of the grown-ups, too."

His eyes narrowed. "They give you a hard time?"

"Well, most of them don't. For the most part the worst that happens is they look at me funny. But some say nasty things, or call me 'she' and 'Denise' on purpose."

Eric nodded slowly. "Aye, words can hurt more than you'd think."

I plucked a weed from beside me and fiddled with its leaves. "I guess I should count my blessings. Mom and Dad say that outside the Farm, way worse stuff happens to people like us."

"Sad but true, lad." Eric sighed and closed his eyes. "I lost my dear Leslie to that sort of mad hatred."

"Your girlfriend? Or, uh, boyfriend?"

"Boyfriend. Partner. Lover." His voice was scratchy with grief now. "He was a beacon in my life. Helped me through findin' myself. Kept by my side when so many others cast me out."

The weed crumpled in my hand as I fidgeted. "Um. Sorry." You'd think that, living with the Assassins, I'd know better how to act around people who'd lost someone. But really, "death" was still kind of a foreign concept to me at that age. The field operatives who went out and didn't come back weren't ever anyone I knew well enough to miss. Once in a while they were a classmate's parent, aunt, or uncle. Same as with Eric, I never knew what was the right thing to say to the classmate afterward. For now, I couldn't come up with anything better than "It sucks when Templars kill nice people."

He shook his head. "Nae, they weren't Templars. There's plenty terrible folk in this world who aren't joined up with them."

"Oh." I fell silent after that.

Eric picked up the conversation, though. "I didnae know what to do with myself. I wished they'd taken me instead. Even wished I'd never met 'im, so I wouldnae had to ever feel the pain of losing 'im."

Again, I had no idea how to respond. I couldn't imagine being in love with anyone so intensely.

"Only way forward I could see was to strike back at them."

"Did you get 'em?"

"Aye, but not without cost." Eric adjusted his headband. "Nearly got myself killed a time or two in the process. And it's not a _cheap_ process, gettin' revenge. By the end I was destitute, living on the streets. And that's where Gavin picked me up."

"Gavin, huh."

"He's-"

"Yeah, I know. One of Dad's best buds, big shot international Assassin team leader." I crossed my arms on top of my knees. "Speaking of which: what's it like being on his team?"

He shrugged. "Don't have experience on any other team to compare it to."

"No, I mean what's it like actually being out in the field? Seeing the world? Sailing the seas?"

He smiled genially. "Ah, well. It's quite nice, when we have time to appreciate it. Mind ye, staying on a ship takes a bit gettin' used to. First week or so aboard I spent most of my time boakin' over the side! But my stomach got its sea-legs eventually, with a little help from Chewy."

"Um. 'Chewy'?"

"Dr. Chiu- Stephanie Chiu. But she likes 'Chewy' for short."

I straightened up a little. "Ohhh. That's- my parents mentioned her. She, uh... Is she nice?"

"She's a treasure." Eric grinned. "Just don't call her Chewbacca."

"What?"

The grin fell away. "Crivens, ye really **are** kept isolated in here."


	7. Chapter 7

The clinic was a familiar place to me. I'd been there for all my normal check-ups, shots, and whatnot, as well as first aid for injuries like that wasp sting last summer.

But things were different today. The place wasn't jam-packed with a dozen other novices and Assassins chatting and joking while we waited to be seen. No, it was just me and my folks today; Dad had used his Mentorial authority to clear out an hour of the clinic's schedule, to assure I had utter privacy.

"Privacy, yeah. As if we didn't already tell everyone what's going on," I said to him, chuckling nervously.

"Still, there's no need for them to know every detail."

"Right, right," I muttered. When it came to keeping people on a need-to-know basis, Dad was the fuckin' expert. Like when he wouldn't tell me where he was going on missions until he'd finished them and come back home, and even then the details were always vague. Or when I overheard him talking to the computer geeks about an ominous project Abstergo was working on, and he suddenly shut up when he realized I was there. _"The less you know, the safer you are,"_ was his persistent explanation.

I sighed. Mom touched my arm. "No te preocupes, mijo."

"I'm not _worried_ , I'm just... nervous. ...Which, I guess, is kinda the same. Heh." I forced a laugh.

Dad checked his watch, and was about to say something.

But just then, the door opened and in walked a tiny woman with messy spikes of brown hair. "Oh! Mentor, you're already- I didn't realize you were waiting on me."

Dad held up a hand. "It's fine, Doctor, we haven't been waiting long."

She was eased by this, and looked from Dad to me with a warm smile. "Hi D. I'm Dr. Chiu."

"Y-yeah," I stuttered. "Eric told me you know how to help with... stuff."

She shrugged a tiny bit. "If by 'stuff' you mean 'transgender hormone therapy', then yes, although it's not exactly what I studied at uni."

"Oh. What _did_ you study?"

"Appointment now, small talk later," Dad cut in before she could answer.

"Right, yes." Dr. Chiu beckoned me into one of the clinic's little exam rooms. I glanced back at my parents before following her in.

 

* * *

 

The examination wasn't anywhere near as traumatic as I'd feared. It was barely an "examination" at all, really. Dr. Chiu took some blood samples and noted down my height and weight, but for the most part she just talked to me, asked me questions.

The only icky part was when she asked how I felt about maybe having children someday. I shuddered. "Don't wanna think about that. Sex is gross. Babies are gross. Gross gross gross."

She gave a small acquiescing shrug. "It's something to keep in mind. While your initial treatments will be fully reversible if you wish, the later-on hormones can impact your options for having a family in the future."

I crossed my arms. "Already have a family. Mom and Dad."

"All right, all right." She marked something down on her clipboard. "You're lucky, getting started on transition so young."

"Lucky would be if I was born correctly," I muttered. "It's hard enough being trapped in this den, without being trapped in trans-ness on top of that."

"Trapped in this den?" Her dark curious eyes looked up at me. "How do you mean?"

"It means just what it sounds like. I can't leave the Farm."

"The Farm is safe, though. Don't tell me you want to be out fighting Abstergo? At your age?"

"Tch." I crossed my arms.

"You have to finish your training first."

"Training sucks, Dad's too hard on me," I said without thinking about how she might react.

"Does he hurt you?"

"What?! No, he doesn't hurt me, it's just..." I exhaled and tapped the arm of the chair. "He comes and watches the training sessions sometimes, and he's always criticizing how I did, and making me practice more until I get it _ab-so-lute-ly_ perfect. And I'm always dead tired by the end."

Dr. Chiu put down her clipboard. "He has good reason to train you hard," she said slowly. "You're his only child. He doesn't want to lose you to the war."

"The _war_. Right." I exhaled again.

She must have picked up on my cynicism, because she said, "In here you're protected, insulated. So it's easy not to believe it's going on. But if you were out there in the field, you'd see."

"Well I'm not out there. I'm in here."

"And, I'm sorry, but you're going to stay in here until you're deemed ready to handle yourself out there."

"Okay, whatever." I really didn't feel like debating this with her right now, if ever. "Hey, uh... speaking of my training, are these hormones gonna make me stronger? Like, with big manly muscles?"

Her previously-serious expression cracked into a smile. "Don't get any unrealistic expectations now. Remember, you're still only twelve."

 

* * *

 

After our conversation wound down, Dr. Chiu dismissed me out to the waiting room and called my parents in to talk. "Don't go anywhere, D," she said, smiling. "This shouldn't take long, maybe five, ten minutes."

So I waited.

And waited.

And _waited._

Finally, tired of just sitting on my ass, I went over to try and listen through the exam room door.

It didn't work: all I could hear were thickly muffled vocals. So, at a loss for anything else to do, I started pacing around and looking over the bookshelves lining the wall. A lot of medical literature, as well as some other random crap. One of the titles caught my eye, possibly because of the second word in it. I glanced around quickly before plucking it down from the shelf.

 _The Naked Ape_ , said the cover in hollow capitals on a solid black background, _a Zoologist's Study of the Human Animal._ From the faded corners and little tears in the jacket, as well as the overall aesthetic, the book looked at least as old as I was, maybe twice that.

The bottom edge of the cover declared the author: DESMOND MORRIS.

"Desmond," somebody whispered, and I realized it was me. "Woah." As I reread the name, my vision went a teeny bit blurry and I felt lightheaded. "Woah," I said again, setting down the book and plopping into a chair. I could still see the outlines of those seven letters, glowing faintly blue on the inside of my eyelids.

"D?"

I inhaled and straightened up at Dad's voice. As I opened my eyes, the faint blue was still there, in shimmering specks around him, Mom, and Dr. Chiu. I rubbed my head and blinked a few times till things looked normal again.

"Are you feeling ill, D?" Dr. Chiu asked.

"Desmond," I said automatically, not even caring what her actual question was.

Dad frowned. "Excuse me?"

I pushed myself up from the chair. "My name, y'know? I found a name that's good for my name." (Super eloquent, right?)

Dr. Chiu looked way more elated than Dad at this news. "Wow. Your name is?"

"Desmond. Desmond Miles," I said, testing the feel of it with my surname. "Yeah. Yeah!"

Dad cleared his throat like he was gearing up to speak.

Dr. Chiu gave him a look. "I think it's nice."

"It's very nice," Mom agreed.

"Yeah." I nodded enthusiastically. "It just kinda... sounds right, doesn't it? _Desmond Miles_."

It didn't feel just like I'd finally found a name I'd be okay using for myself. It felt more like I was finding out what my name already was supposed to be; like some cosmic hand had come down from the sky and fixed the typo on my soul previously labeled "Denise".

Dad was still hedging for some reason. "I don't know..."

"Come on," I impelled him. "I really like it. It's, y'know, interesting an' unique without being too weird or hard to spell." 

"Mentor," Dr. Chiu said warningly. "Didn't I stress the importance of being supportive?"

"Yes, Dr. Chiu, you did." Dad rubbed one temple. "But this- 'Desmond'- there's other factors-"

"C'mon Dad, it's the same letter and everything, what the heck problem do you have with it?!"

"All right!" Dad snapped, holding his hands up. "All right! It's fine, I just- There's a 'Desmond' mentioned in Ezio's Codex, all right?"

I blinked. "...What?"

"The final page," he said heavily. "One of the few parts of the text that aren't encrypted. _Il resto spetta a voi, Desmond._ "

Mom's brow furrowed as she parsed the Italian. "The rest... "

"Is up to you, Desmond," Dad finished.

"The rest of what, though?" Dr. Chiu asked.

"That's just it, we don't know!" Dad ran his hands over his hair, clearly frustrated. He was barely looking at me anymore. "Until we decode the rest of it, we're in the dark."

"What does that stupid book have to do with me?" I finally burst out. "If the legendary Ezio, who you all fucking love so much, had a friend named 'Desmond', then why are you so against that being my name too?"

 _Now_ Dad looked at me, face stiff, eyes uncertain. It seemed for a few moments that he didn't know what to say.

"What, am I not good enough, not _Assassin_ enough, to be named after Ezio's friend?"

"He didn't have a friend named Desmond," Dad said slowly.

"Friend, enemy, aquaintance, gay lover, who fucking cares? I don't give a shit about why that name was in his damn diary, okay?"

"Watch your language, D."

"No. Don't call me that anymore." I stood as straight as I could and slapped my hand over my chest. "From here on out, my name is Desmond. And don't you forget it."


	8. Solve for X

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> content warning some people are ignorant douches in this chapter

"I know I shouldn't question the Mentor's 'proclamation', but honestly, I still can't wrap my mind around it. Where in the world does a girl get the notion to, just out of nowhere one day, start insisting she's a boy?"

Because of these words, I froze just as I was about to knock on Ms. Callahan's office door.

Another instructor was in there with her, and clucked her tongue in response. "Ingrained sexism, I suppose."

"You'd think we'd be insulated from any misogynistic culture, wouldn't you, though? Here with no TV or movies or ads or radio."

"It is odd, right?" the second instructor said.

"And now they've brought in that new doctor... I hope Denise-"

"I'm **Desmond** , and I can **hear** you!" I said through the door, having finally had enough of their conversation carrying through to the hall.

Two surprised little "Oh"s answered me, then Ms. Callahan opened the door, smiling sheepishly. "Y-yes, dear?"

I glowered at her for a moment. Did she seriously think the reason I came out as a dude was because I was sexist? Sexist against _myself_? That didn't even make any sense.

"Dear? How can I help you?"

"I just came by to get whatever assignment I missed from this morning," I said tersely. "Since I was at the doctor."

"Right..." She stepped back into her office and took a couple papers from her desk. "It's right here." She handed it to me.

I scanned over the papers. _Ugh. Algebra. Why do Assassins need to know algebra anyway?_

"Due first thing Friday. And don't forget to show-"

"Show my work, yeah yeah." I folded the papers in four and stuffed them in my pocket. "Oh, also!" I looked back up at her. "Call me Desmond."

"Desmond?"

"Yeah, thank you, that's my name," I said, rubbing briefly at the sore spot on my stomach. "No more 'D' and _definitely_ no more that other one you said just a minute ago."

"R-right. Sorry."

"It's fine." It wasn't fine. Why did I say it was fine? Ugh. _Stupid._ "Well, um. See ya. Bye." I spun and marched away before I could embarrass myself further.

 

* * *

 

People remained weirded out about me for a while. My classmates acted stiff and shy in my presence, as if I was a stranger. I developed a stock phrase and said it about five hundred times in the months after coming out: "I'm still the same guy as always, except I'm not hiding my guy-ness anymore."

But to tell you the truth.... something else about me had changed.

I almost thought it was a bad reaction to the hormones, and was severely freaked out that I might have to stop getting them. But then I remembered it happened one time before I even got the first shot.

So it was a fucking mystery, for a while. Then one day in fucking history class of all places...

 

* * *

 

I rubbed my forehead, gritting my teeth with the increasing pain. It wasn't "pain" the same way getting knocked around in a fight was, but it sure wasn't pleasant. And I knew when I opened my eyes, the room would be dingy gray, my classmates flecked with blue. _Why does this keep happening?_

"Des?" Tommy whispered, leaning over from the next row of desks. "You okay?"

I didn't really like "Desmond" being shortened to "Des", but it was acceptable, I guess. Hella better than what Dad was doing lately, conspicuously avoiding any use of my name at all.

"M'fine," I mumbled back at him.

We were having _yet another_ lesson about Ezio. Now, you'd think that would be interesting, hearing about all his Assassin-y adventures. And sure, sometimes it was. But it wasn't like Mr. Colville was re-enacting epic fights for us; he usually just droned on and on about the sociopolitical aspects backdropping those fights.

"[...As such, they would have referred to themselves as 'Romans', 'Greeks', or 'Hellenes', since they were the political continuation of the Roman Empire in the east, and viewed themselves the direct heirs and guardians of Hellenic civilization.](http://assassinscreed.wikia.com/wiki/Byzantines#Trivia)"

The ache in my eyes intensified, and I had to lay my head down on the desk.

Mr. Colville coughed loudly and said in a slightly raised voice. "Desmond, my class is not naptime."

"Sorry." I lifted my head and squinted at him. "I'm not feeling well."

"Do you need to be excused to see the doctor?"

"No fair; he's skipped a whole bunch already!" someone complained from behind me. "Bet he's not even really sick this time!"

"Faking being sick just like faking being a boy," someone else said in a low malevolent taunt.

"I am too a boy and I am too sick!" I stood up quickly and spun around to face them. Their faces all glowed a range of brilliant blues, almost too bright for me to bear- I had to cover my eyes.

"Is it a headache? I have some aspirin," Mr. Colville offered, starting to root around in his desk drawer.

"Mhgh, not really." I leaned woozily against the desk and spoke to him privately. "It's like, a headache-plus-eyesight thing. Like I'm going colorblind."

He shut the drawer and looked at me, slightly condescending. "Don't be ridiculous, people don't 'go colorblind'."

"Well what would you call it when I can only see in gray and blue?" I hissed.

"Gray and blue? What?"

"Like, everything's gray except people." I rubbed my temple. "Jesus, maybe I have a brain tumor or an eye tumor or something."

"I..." Mr. Colville was speechless for a couple seconds. "Maybe. But maybe not." He stood up and put his hands on my shoulders. "Class? Desmond needs to go to the clinic; can you all behave while I take him?"

A couple people grumbled, but for the most part the class didn't protest.

"Is he going to be all right?" I heard Sam ask.

"He- I think he'll be fine, he just- well, Dr. Chiu should know more- perhaps this could- but I don't want to assume, so-" He sounded like his mind was going into overdrive and he couldn't finish one thought before starting another.

"Can we just _go_ already!" I impelled him.

"Right, right. You all read over the rest of chapter ten on the Byzantines; I'll be back shortly." He ushered me out in a worried hurry.

 

* * *

 

The weird colorations had subsided back to normal by the time we got to the clinic, but Mr. Colville was no less hyped up as he gave Dr. Chiu the lowdown. She followed up with a few questions to me before pronouncing the diagnosis.

"Eagle Vision?" I repeated, blinking at her. "Is that some kind of _joke_?"

"No, Desmond," she said plainly. "It's the only explanation for what you're experiencing."

"That's a freaking weird name for a disease."

Mr. Colville shook his head. "It's not a disease. It's a gift."

I gave him a _yeah, sure_ look. "Some gift huh? Just randomly make me colorblind! Real nice!"

"It's very useful for Assassins! Gavin trained for years to be able to utilize it."

"And he can do so only just barely," Dr. Chiu put in.

"So you should be thankful you have it naturally!" Mr. Colville said with a vigorous nod.

"You're saying it's _useful,_ this blue and gray shit?"

"Blue are your allies, red are your enemies," he said. "And that's just the beginning."

This was fucking ridiculous. "How would you know? You don't have it!"

"It's been documented in Assassins through the ages." He brushed some hair behind his ear and gave a tiny smile. "Not documented very well, I'll grant, but there are enough mentions that we know it's a real phenomenon. Albeit very rare in recent history."

Dr. Chiu looked from him back to me. "I think you're the only one in the past... fifty or so years? to be born with it."

"Maybe a century or more!" Mr. Colville added.

I stood up and rubbed my head; this time not because it was hurting, but just because I was trying to take this all in. "Okay fine. Let's say I have this 'Eagle Vision'. How do I make it stop? Because nobody around me is an enemy, so it's just another fucking annoying body problem, as if I didn't have enough!"

"Oh." Mr. Colville's excitement dampened a bit. "I... suppose it's like any other body function, in that it takes time to learn control."

"Gavin can probably give you tips," Dr. Chiu said, and chuckled softly. "So we'll have to call his crew back here again."

I sighed. "The sooner the better, I guess."

 

* * *

 

Tommy and Sam and my few other friends wanted to know what was up after I returned to class, but I didn't feel like discussing it, and I told them as much. The rest of the school day passed in a foggy blur. (Metaphorically, that is: I didn't actually have any more visual disturbances, thank god.)

After school, as soon as I stepped inside the house, Dad rushed to meet me in the entryway, Mom close behind. Dad seemed tense, almost staring at me.

I set down my bookbag. "Lemme guess. You heard the news."

Dad breathed deeply, in, out, and then said with weighty emotion, "Son..."

The word "son" was a double-edged sword; I mean yeah it was nice and gender-affirming and shit, but it was all he ever called me since the day I stopped being "D".

He crouched down and gently took my chin in one hand. "Is it true? That you've inherited... the sense?"

God, the way he said it- " _the sense_ "- with such ridiculous awe. Eric had recently introduced me to the world of sci-fi movies, and this sounded like a line straight out of a bad one.

"M-maybe," I stammered. "I, uh, my vision goes weird sometimes, and-"

"Show me," Dad requested.

"Show you? But it's _my_ vision, how? Plus I can't control when it happ- ah!" My head suddenly seized up with telltale tingles, and when I opened my eyes again after the shock, Dad was a brilliant blue.

And his eyes went wide, apparently seeing something in mine. His mouth worked a moment, but without quite forming any words.

"Bill?" Mom asked hesitantly.

"It's true," Dad whispered, turning my head slightly side to side, watching intently. "He has the sense." A strange smile of wonder and pride played across his mouth.

It hurt to look at him. I covered my eyes almost completely, just letting the sapphire shine in a bit between my fingers.

"I always knew you were a special child," Mom said softly.

"I don't want to be special like this," I whined.

Dad patted my back. "Oh, come now."

"It hurts, when it turns on."

Dad let out another breath. "It's possible that's normal, at first. Like teething pains, or growing pains."

"Or period cramps," Mom offered.

"Eeuuah," I shuddered. "Mentioning that right now is not making me feel better!"

Dad let out a short deep noise that was almost a sob, and then before I knew it his arms were around me. "All right. This is hard for you now, but we'll get through it. All right?"

"A- all right," I squeaked, taken aback by the show of physical affection.

"All right," he said in confirmation, pulling back to look at me with tears in his eyes. "You'll get through this. You'll learn to control it."

Even now, the Eagle Vision was fading away. I took my hands off my face and smiled at him.

He hugged me tight again. "You're going to do great things, _Desmond_."


	9. Chapter 9

**February 2008**

"Uh, Dad?" I said warily, poking my head in the doorway to his office.

He swiveled his computer screen out of the way. "Yes?"

I stepped into his office and held up the box he'd handed me this morning; the box that was supposed to be this month's T doses. "Is there a reason I'm being switched from shots to pills suddenly?" Due to the damn secret supply lines being periodically compromised, I was used to some months not receiving anything in the mail, but never before had I gotten some alternate thing.

Dad's nose wrinkled. "It should be the same as always."

"Well it's not. Looks like it's not even T, this stuff."

"What is it then?"

I took out the bottle from the box and read it. "Somethin' called... ven-fa-laxine?"

"Ven... Ohh," Dad groaned. "There must have been some mix-up."

"You mean they sent the wrong thing? So my T got sent somewhere else?"

"I suppose it could have," he started to answer, but then his eyes looked past me.

I heard footsteps and turned to see another Assassin, one of the guys Dad recruited late last year, coming down the narrow hall. His name was... Craig or something, I didn't remember exactly; he wasn't in my training group but I saw him around from time to time.

Whatever his name was, he was holding a similar sized box. Striding past me, he set it down on Dad's desk. "Needa report a mail snafu here, sir," he said. "Supposed to be venlafaxine, not this 'testosterone cypionate' stuff."

"Wait, testosterone?" I jumped forward to peek at the contents of Craig's package. Sure enough, there were the empty syringes and the familiar little white boxes that I knew had glass vials inside. "Aha," I laughed weakly.

Craig wrinkled his nose in a very Dad-like fashion. "Something funny?"

"Well, you got my meds and I got yours, apparently."

"Ah, good." Dad allowed a little smile to cross his face. "Our supplier must have erred when labeling these. Lucky the two packages went to the same den."

"Well, how handy," Craig said as he and I swapped boxes- whoops, his name wasn't Craig. According to the label on my T, it was "Clay".

"We're all sorted, then?" Dad asked, fingers crawling back to his keyboard.

"Yeah, guess so," I said.

"Either of you need anything else?"

"No sir," Craig answered, almost militarily formal.

As we left Dad's office and went down the hall, I braced myself for the possibility he would ask me why I was on that stuff. The people I'd grown up with knew I used to be "Denise" of course, but I'd made them swear not to disclose it to anyone else. And, as the years went by and transfers or new recruits filtered in to the Farm, I never found it necessary to tell any of them. And it was easier that way, not having to risk them looking at me as some kinda freak. I mean, I was already semi-freakish for having Eagle Vision, but people understood that as a sort of superpower; they could wrap their minds around it, having heard the legends. There were no awe-inspiring legends about trans people. (And believe me, I'd done my darnedest to find some. The closest thing was the story of James Kidd, Assassin-slash-pirate, who the history books were always quick to point out "was actually a woman." Ugh.)

Anyway, in the end Clay didn't ask about it; just left the building and headed off with a backhand wave. _Maybe he knows somehow_ , my brain whispered. _Your voice or your face or something gave it away._

"Shut up, brain," I whispered back.

 

* * *

* * *

 

**March 2008**

"You're telegraphing your moves, Desmond," Clay chided me. The next second I was _thumped_ down on the mat, his elbow in my back. "Jesus. Which one of us again is the newer recruit?"

I frowned into the mat and squirmed out from under him once he let up. "I'm better at armed combat, asshole."

He smirked. "Life's unpredictable. Can't always count on being armed."

"That's why I'm fucking practicing, okay? Best three out of five," I challenged. My chest was sore from mock punches but I didn't want to stop. Sparring with Clay was a rush I hadn't experienced from sparring anyone else. And I _did_ need the practice; I kept telling myself _that_ was the reason we were still in the gym after everyone else had gone for the evening.

Looking back, it's so damn obvious I had a crush on him. His dirty blonde-brown hair was swept back from his forehead like an ocean wave had washed over it. Even his smug smirk was adorable, in a way.

"Best three out of five? All right, but you're already down two," Clay laughed. He raised his arms and beckoned. "Come at me, bro."

Through some kind of magic change of luck, I pinned him the next round. "Holy- okay I surrender!" he sputtered.

I huffed and rolled off him. "You didn't _let_ me win that time, did you?"

"Oh, I'm hurt you'd even entertain the thought, Desmond my dear!"

"Sure, sure." I got up and dusted my pants clean. "Maybe I'm actually getting good at this."

I was close to pinning him again when he summoned a secret reserve of strength and threw me off. I growled and threw myself back at him, but after a few more furious minutes he had me up against the ropes, my arms hooked behind my back. "Ow, okay, uncle, uncle!"

Clay had released me by the end of the first "uncle". "So that's three rounds to me. Shall we call it a night?" he asked, stretching his arms out above his head.

"Ug, I guess. Fuck." I popped a joint in my neck.

"C'mon, I'll walk ya home."

This seemed not-really-necessary, but hey, I figured I could use the walk to get to know him better.

 

* * *

 

We made small talk a while: I asked where he was from (Chicago), what it was like there (crowded, but not unpleasant), what his family was like... This particular question he looked mildly upset about.

"Sorry. You don't have to answer." I'd overheard some stories now and again about recruits being pulled from homelessness or abusive parents. Maybe Clay's story was another one of those. After a moment of shy hesitation, I patted his back.

He breathed out his feelings in a short puff and turned his head to look at me. "My family... It's little, and broken. And 'still good' about half the time."

A bug chirruped somewhere close.

"Oh." Clay shook his head. "You won't know that reference, you don't have movies here."

I gave a little smile. "We have some movies. But not that one I guess."

"Pity; it's a really good one."

"Oh yeah? Tell me all about it, then."

"Right, so there's this extraterrestrial- well lots of them really- and this little Hawaiian girl, and...."

 

* * *

 

"Ya know, you're not really what I expected from the Brotherhood's special scion."

"Um?"

"Mentor's only son, world-savior named in the Codex, Eagle Sense as per the legends of old? I thought someone with all those laurels would be more pretentious."

"Oh." I ducked my head down modestly, watching my feet. "I'm just a normal guy, for the most part."

"Clearly I was mistaken," Clay said casually. "You're downright down-to-earth. Oh, here's my stop." He gestured at a house coming up out of the dusk and trees ahead. "You wanna come in for a bit, maybe stay for dinner?"

"I'm not all that hungry, but sure, I'll stay a bit," I said, following him inside. It was a simple two-story cottage, like pretty much all the Farm residences. "You got this place all to yourself?"

"Oh, it's a few other guys, but they're out on some mission."

"Mission, mission, always a misson," I said dully.

"Assassins' work is never done," Clay said back. "I kinda wanted in on the action, but I'm still quote 'not cleared for field work' unquote. On the upside, though, means I _do_ have the place to myself _tonight_." He tossed his jacket over a chair and stepped closer to me. "Maybe we can take advantage of it. If you want."

"I... If I want _what_?" I asked, thinking I knew, but not fully sure quite yet.

"Well. A different sort of 'action'." He shot me a smile.

My heartrate quickened at those words, and I suddenly realized I was fidgeting my hands together.

"Hey, calm down," Clay murmured, taking hold of my restless hands. "You're into me, right? It's kind of neon-sign obvious, at least from my point of view."

I laughed shakily. "Yeah, I am."

"Arright. I'm game." He tugged me closer, bit by bit, until we were kissing.

I nearly freaking melted.

My hands felt clammy and gross, distracting me from the good feelings everywhere else in my body, so I wormed them out of Clay's grasp and grabbed hold of his shirt for dear life, drowning in the new sensations he was giving me.

In response he put his hands around my waist, and moved subtly out of the kiss, putting his hot breath on my neck. There was a fraction of a second where I swore I felt his hard-on through my pants leg, and **god** this entire thing felt so surreal. My heart was beating like crazy but I didn't at all want that beat to slow down. "Ahh," I gasped as he gripped my hips, kneading them, appreciating them, all the while smiling at me.

"You are really, **really** cute, ya know? Like 'umf'." He brought a hand up behind my head and pulled me into another kiss, while his other hand started sliding slowly up my stomach, under my shirt.

 _Oh god that feels good but if this keeps going he's gonna-_ "Clay, wait." I put my palm against his (lean, thick, _perfect_ ) bicep, pushing away slightly.

"What?"

"Before... before we go any further... I gotta tell you something." I took a moment to get hold of my thoughts. The thrilling pulse Clay was setting off in my head was hard to pause. But I wanted to tell him _now_ , before his roaming hands found any glaring inconsistencies.

He didn't look angry or even irritated at my interruption of the.... whatever you'd call what we were doing. No, he just looked at me, waiting, with those gentle eyes of his.

"I'm... t-transgender," I stuttered. God, I hadn't actually said the word in a long while. Years, at least. I watched his expression closely.

When he didn't respond after a moment, I figured maybe he needed a definition. I swallowed and tried my best. "It's like, I was born a girl, but I'm actually a guy." The phrase "born a girl" rang sour in my own ears- it tended to conjure up photos I'd seen of my parents holding a pink-swaddled bundle that I couldn't identify with- but I couldn't think of a better way to quickly get the point across in that moment.

Clay's hand twitched under my shirt. "Testosterone," he said quietly, more to himself than to me. It had been some weeks since the mail mixup, but he apparently recalled it still.

"Yeah. That's... I'm missing the usual dude anatomy for my body to make its own." I took a breath. "Point being, you're gonna be a little disappointed if you see me under my clothes."

Clay laughed then, which threw me off. I thought he was laughing at me, at my freakish nature, until he spoke again.

"How about you hold off on saying I'll be disappointed?" He leaned in and crooned against my ear. "Just let me make up my own mind about that."

I breathed a few slow ragged breaths. My heart was still jittering and skipping against my ribs.

Clay pulled back and made eye contact again. "Up to you, Desmond..."

His voice was husky and warm like the sweet dark caramel of his hair. I wished to hell I'd asked Eric about sex stuff one of the many times he'd visited. But maybe me and Clay figuring it out ourselves wouldn't be so bad. "All right," I whispered, "let's see where this goes."

 

* * *

 

We didn't have sex.

I mean, I don't think you could call it "sex". Nothing went inside anywhere. Other than tongues in mouths. And in ears- dear _lord_ , Clay had a _thing_ for ears. It was definitely nothing like they'd told us about in health class all those years ago; nothing like the shady gossip I'd heard from other guys. I don't know if I exactly "came", but it sure felt good.

Afterward I felt weird and tired, but Clay's arms were around me warm, secure, comforting despite the strange and new ritual we'd just performed.

"Guess this means I'm gay after all," I mumbled with a drowsy laugh, and fell asleep before I could hear Clay's response.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> mentions of genitals; sex discussion; clay says a problematic thing or two or three

"You _smoke_?" I stared incredulous at the cancer stick in Clay's fingers. Fingers that just last night had been all over my fucking _body_.

He looked ashamed and stubbed it out immediately. "Trying to quit. This is my first in a couple weeks." A beat passed and then his whole body jolted. "Shit! First! I- fuck. I was your first, wasn't I?"

I looked down from him to his sandaled feet under the table.

"Oh mother of fuck. I _was_ your first." He inhaled through his teeth sharply. "So, you never... because of the, uh, trans... situation, thing?"

I wasn't sure if that was the entire reason, but I nodded anyway.

"Fuck," he said again. "Sorry. I- last night, I guess I was so damn horny. Didn't really hit me that you might have been a virgin."

I dared to look at his face proper again. "Still am. 'Cause we didn't actually-"

He gave one dismissive hand-wave. "Fine, you haven't done any penetration. Technically unsullied, by the proper definition."

I shrugged and came over to the coffeepot to pour a mug. "Guess I'll be a virgin for life, then. Don't really think I'll ever wanna do it girl-style."

"Guys have penetrative sex too, ya know," Clay said, raising an eyebrow.

I snorted coffee out my nose, and damn that wasn't a fun experience.

"What, did you not realize? Is Assassin sex ed so limited they don't teach you about anal?"

I sputtered something unintelligible as I tore a napkin out of the package to mop up the spilled coffee.

Clay grinned wide. "Hell, I could give you a hands-on demo right now if you want."

"Fucking _ass_."

"Well, yes, that's the concept."

I coughed and laughed at the same time. "I know the concept of butt sex, alright, dummy. It's not something I really aspire to get done to me, though."

Clay tilted his head. "So you're more of a 'top', then."

This wasn't the ideal conversation to have over breakfast, in my opinion. But then again, I was only having coffee at the moment, not actual breakfast yet; I could handle it. "Fuck, I dunno. I wasn't even sure I liked guys before last night."

Clay laughed a short muffled laugh. "You're welcome, then. Glad I could help you discover yet another thing that sets you apart from the teeming masses."

"Great, I needed more of those," I said, rolling my eyes.

Clay's chair creaked slightly as he leaned back, balancing on the hind legs. "As for the trans thing... I take it that's on a strictly need-to-know basis?" It was barely a question, by the tone he used.

"Yeah." I coughed. "I mean, I'm obviously not 'out' to most people."

Clay nodded and took a pull of his coffee.

"Actually, you're the first person I've told about this since... forever ago."

"Ohh," he said, sounding like he understood the honor of being entrusted with this classified information. Then he was silent for a bit, before saying, "Ya know, not to belabor the subject- I'll drop it if you want- but before you woke up today, I got to thinking."

"Mm?" I hummed through a mouthful of coffee, as a prompt for him to continue.

"Truth be told, I think I'm kinda... whatevergender."

I gave him an appropriately perplexed look.

Clay let out a little huff-chuckle. "What I mean is, I've got a male body, and I'm cool with that. But if I woke up tomorrow with a female body, and with everyone calling me Claire instead of Clay?" He shrugged. "Wouldn't really bother me."

"It would **definitely** bother **me**."

"Yeah, I gotcha." He nodded and was silent a bit more.

I sipped my coffee.

"Shit, I'm being a terrible host; lemme get you breakfast." Clay got up, grabbed two bagels from the cupboard and set them toasting.

"By the way," I said slowly, "can you try not to say 'female body' like that? When you mean what I have?"

Without missing a beat, he asked back, "What should I say? 'Body with a vagina'?"

I put my face in my hand.

"Is that too clinical? Should I call yours something else? 'Man cave', maybe?"

"Oh my god I'm sorry I started us on this topic." He hadn't even seen it, barely even _touched it_ last night and now he was gonna give it a goddamn nickname? Really?

"Sorry, I'll shut up about it." Clay chuckled and lifted my face up gently.

I could feel myself blushing.

"God, you're beautiful," he said in a half-whisper.

"Beautiful?"

"Handsome. Pulchritudinous. Aesthetically pleasing."

"Wait, what was that second one?"

"You're good-looking, doofus." He let go of my chin and went to top up his coffee. "And just so you know, I wasn't disappointed last night." The bagels finished toasting with a _pop_. He handed me one and said casually, "I'm bi, anyway, so I can get it up no matter what's in your pants."

Something about this statement irritated me. I frowned into my coffee for a moment before I figured out how to explain the irritation. "You're saying, if you were straight-up gay, only into men, you couldn't be into me?" I looked up from the mug. "Like, I'm not a real man or something?"

Clay's face instantly showed regret. "Des... I..." he stammered. "I didn't mean it like that."

I exhaled and slid my mug away. "Clay... last night was nice... but, I gotta know. After, y'know, finding out about me-" I swept a hand down in a gesture to indicate my body, "do you... am I still the same 'Desmond' to you? Or am I some faker, some confused weirdo?"

"You're not fake," Clay said vehemently. "You're as real as any other man I've met."

"Really?" I pressed. "You don't see me as some half-man-half-woman freak?"

He banged a fist down on the table, rattling our plates. "You're not a freak, dammit! You're a guy who got a difficult hand from the cosmic dealer, is all."

"Okay, okay." I took a deep breath again. "I've had people give me shit in the past, y'know?"

"No, I don't know," he said softly. "But I guess it was pretty bad. Makes sense you'd try and be cautious about telling new people." He brushed a stray bit of hair out of his eyes. "I sort of forced your hand last night, didn't I?"

I nodded. "Not that I regret it, but... yeah kinda."

He looked pained. "God, I'm sorry."

"Look, you don't hafta keep apologizing. Just, y'know, try to be conscious of-" A sharp rapping at the door interrupted me.

"Kaczmarek?" came Dad's voice.

"Coming sir!" Clay called, springing up from the table and dashing back to his room. He reappeared twenty seconds later, having thrown on a shirt and non-pajama pants, and opened the door. "Yes sir?"

"I'm looking for Desmond, have you seen him?" No sooner had the words left Dad's mouth than his gaze went past Clay and he spotted me. "Desmond?!"

I coughed, painfully aware of how disheveled I looked. "Hi."

Dad's eyes darted from me to Clay and back, and I could practically hear him putting two and two together.

Clay's hand was still on the doorknob, and a slight twitch betrayed his inner worry. "What do you need, Mentor?" he asked, clearly trying to divert the subject.

"We need Desmond, for-" Dad swallowed and tightened his fists at his sides. "...a mission."


	11. Chapter 11

I snapped my seatbelt into place and looked over at Dad. He had the truck key in his hand, fidgeting it subtly. The thin red rope that served as its keychain was worn and knotted, testament to age and use. Our house key was also kept there, and some others I didn't know the purpose of.

(One day, sometime in the future, would I carry them maybe? Did I want to?)

He fidgeted a moment longer, then set the keys on his thigh and asked the question I knew had been burning in his mind.

"Did you... sleep with him?"

I twisted my mouth tightly. Yeah, in the most general sense of the word, we'd slept together- been asleep in the same bed- but that obviously wasn't Dad's question here. "Is it your business if I did?"

"I... want you to be safe," Dad said, his eyes fixed on the steering wheel.

"I can take care of myself, I'm not an idiot."

"You're inexperienced," he whisper-hissed back at me, cheeks a little red.

"I'm twenty-one, Dad, I know how things work! God, I bet you wouldn't be like this to me if I wasn't trans."

That must've been true because it sure shut him up. (At least for the moment.) His hands stuttered as he put the key in the ignition and started the truck finally.

I glanced out the window; Clay was standing outside his house watching us go. He waved at me with an optimistic smile, and I returned the gesture. Had he seen that we were arguing just now? He must've. And smart guy like him probably guessed at the topic too.

Dad cleared his throat. "Desmond. I... I'll love and support you no matter what," he said, quickly, like he was embarassed to say such a cheesy line. "But just... be mindful of possible consequences."

At this I cringed, my hands curling sharply into fists. "Fuck, Dad, we didn't do anything that would have 'consequences', so can you please drop it already!"

He inhaled, as if about to chide me for the expletive, but then just let the breath out wordlessly and continued to drive.

I watched out the window at trees and houses passing by, throwing irregular shadows across the packed-dirt path.

A part of me felt I should say sorry for snapping at him. Excessive caution was in his nature after all, and I'd heard enough tales from Mom to know he'd been like that long before I was even born. So maybe he wasn't being this way because I had a certain bodily configuration- or at least not entirely for that reason.

But apologizing would risk bringing the topic of my activities with Clay back to the fore, and I sure as hell didn't want that. Thus we sat in silence for a while.

Dad cleared his throat again. "So. The mission." He turned the truck onto the path that led to the storehouse.

"Something you need **me** specifically for," I said, feeling wary.

"You've been practicing your Eagle Vision?" he asked, with the clear demand of a "yes" answer.

"I... I do my best, yeah." It hadn't been easy, especially early on, when it was painful as hell and mostly involuntary, but over the months and years I'd slowly gotten that weird power under control and fine-tuned it a bit. Mom had helped a lot, had devised little treasure hunts for me to practice locating objects. (Fuck if I could ever explain how that was possible, but hey, it came in handy sometimes.)

"All right." He pulled into the storehouse garage and we hopped out of the truck. I followed him down some stairs, some stairs I'd never been allowed down before in all my years of childhood exploration.

"Is the mission down here?" I asked, looking sidewise at Dad.

He ignored the slightly sassy question. "We're looking for a Memory Seal. It's a Precursor artifact; disc-shaped and about the size of your hand." He held up his palm for reference, open and flat as if offering oats to a hungry horse. "We'll know you're capable of finding the one in London if you first find the one stored here."

"Oh." That made sense. It'd be a waste bringing me along if I wasn't going to be useful. I took a breath, stale basement-air filling my mouth, and sought out that switch in my mind.

The half-lit space we were in became even dimmer, a gray filter over everything. I started hunting through the myriad boxes and shelves.

"When you find it, do be careful about touching it," Dad said in a soft flat voice.

"Uh? What's it do when you touch it?"

"Plays a memory."

I turned this answer over for a few seconds before deciding I couldn't tell what the fuck it meant. "Plays a memory?"

"A recorded memory, from the life of a past Assassin."

I turned sideways to squeeze between two shelves in order to check the stuff behind them. "How does it 'play'? You mean it plays like a movie or something?" Eric had brought me news of movies recorded on metal discs, a technology they had out in the world beyond the Farm. (He'd also brought me discs of music and a little player device for them. He was nice like that.) Apparently humans only started putting movies on disc in the past few years, but hey if this was a Precursor artifact, maybe it was ahead of its time.

"No, not like a movie. Like reality. You feel and see everything as if it-" Dad paused and exhaled. "Hard to explain. Easier if you experience it for yourself."

"Huh." A small mental ping alerted me to a gray metal set of drawers. I knelt down and squinted, holding the description of the item in the fore of my brain. Aaaand _yes_. "Found it!" I called back to him, pulling open the third-from-the-top left-hand drawer. "Should I bring it to you, or?"

Dad thought a second. "Yes, you ought to know what you're dealing with."

Not sure what to expect, I steadied myself in my crouch and reached for the artifact. It was a matte gold, with jagged purposeful lines etched thickly all over it. When I picked it up, it was a fair bit meatier than a music CD. "It's not doing anyth- oh there it goes!" A piercing ray of sunlight was reflecting off the thing from out of nowhere. Then more rays joined the first, and my vision went out, becoming black and staticky like the empty parts of a VHS.

Sensations flowed into me gradually. My body felt... old. Heavy and stiff. I was wearing a thick hooded robe, and carrying a sturdy book. I handed it to a man in a blue outfit and fancy matching hat. "Niccolò Polo," I said, in a voice that wasn't mine, a very aged voice, "our time together was brief, I know. But I have faith this Codex will answer the many questions you have yet to ask."

There was wind blowing. We were on a... castle? I wanted to look around but I couldn't.

The man took my offered book with earnest thanks. "Altaïr, this gift is... invaluable. Grazie."

Background sounds of clashing steel and neighing horses reached my ears. "So, where will you go next?" I asked the man.

"Back to Costantinopoli for a time. We will establish a guild there before returning to Venezia."

"Your son Marco will be eager to hear his father's wild stories," I said. My beard itched. I had a beard and my beard itched. This was too fucking wild. Also, wait-a-minute, did that guy call me Altaïr?

The man chuckled. "He is a little young for such tales. But one day soon, sì."

I heard urgent footsteps on my right and turned to see another man, perhaps the same age as Dad, and wearing the old-style Assassin robes I'd seen illustrated in textbooks. "Father! A vanguard of Mongols has broken through. The village is overrun!"

Some other Assassins standing around unsheathed swords and headed off in the direction he had come from.

I took the blue-hatted man's shoulder. "Niccolò, your cargo and provisions are waiting for you by the village gates. We will escort you there."

The man bowed his head. "Thank you, Mentor."

Mentor, Mentor, holy crap, this memory was yes-indeedy a memory from Altaïr, **that** Altaïr, the famous one! "Go and protect the villagers," I said- Altaïr said- to the other Assassins. Niccolò and another man in similarly ornate fashion followed close behind me as we descended the steps of the castle. (I struggled to try and recall the name of Altaïr's stronghold, to no avail.)

A huge wooden gate slid open to reveal throngs of roaring warriors charging at us. My heart leapt into my throat, but Altaïr remained calm. He slid a hand into his robe and touched cool metal that sparked with an inner flame. In the instant that an attacker was hurling a spear at him, he sidestepped it and pulled out the metal object: a shining golden orb, incised with the same type of lines I'd seen on the Memory Seal.

The attackers froze for a millisecond, then all in unison dropped their weapons and screamed in agony, falling to their knees.

Altaïr stepped leisurely past them. I felt the creak of his joints, the persistent ache in one knee. "This way," he said to his companions. His voice had the same unflustered seriousness that Dad's had sometimes.

He walked on, down the sloping hillside. In the distance, smoke unfurled like ribbons in the sky.

A warrior jumped out from behind a snarl of boulders, dagger aimed at Altaïr's breast. But the old Assassin moved with lightning reflexes, parrying the blade away with his forearm bracer, and in the same motion stabbing his own blade through the attacker's neck.

Blood spurted over my chest.

A last-ditch wave of warriors came at us soon after, growling and spitting insults. "Hashshashin heathen!" I heard one yell. "You will face the-" 

But Altaïr did not allow him to finish. He raised the orb and it glowed, spiky tendrils of lightpower zapping out to each enemy's head. The attackers twitched and suddenly pivoted, swords slashing into each other.

The attacking force defeated, Altaïr kept walking through the smoking village, his Assassins rushing to put out the fires. When they reached the village edge, he turned to Niccolò and smiled. "A last favor, my friend." He put the Apple back in one pocket, and from the other pocket pulled out a half-dozen Memory Seals. "Take these with you, and guard them well. Hide them if you must."

Niccolò looked quizzical. "Artifacts?"

"Of a kind," Altaïr said cryptically. "They are keys, each one imbued with a message."

"A message for whom?"

"I wish I knew." The sound died away as Altaïr handed over the seals. Niccolò and everything else faded into dim dots, then into blackness.

A hand touched my shoulder. "Desmond?"

I jerked, eyes flying open. I was lying crumpled on the dusty floor, and Dad was bent down near me.

"Are you all right, Desmond?" he said, with the tone of someone who's been repeating that question a few times.

"I'm-" I coughed; my voice sounded weird now. "I'm fine. It's just..." I turned over the Seal still gripped in my hand, looked at it, then looked back up at Dad. "Altaïr. I was Altaïr."

A small chuckle escaped Dad through his nose and he nodded, extending a hand to help me up. "Quite a rush, the first time you experience a genetic memory."

"G-genetic?"

Dad brushed a hand over his hair. "It's something Abstergo discovered. Human DNA encodes- oh but we can discuss it on the way to London." He hastily took the Memory Seal and put it back into the drawer, clicking a lock to secure it.

"London?" I repeated, following him up the stairs.

"A museum there has acquired another of the Memory Seals," he said as we hustled into the truck. "We have reason to believe it contains a memory with information on preventing the Second Disaster."

"The Second Disaster." My mind flashed to the words written in Ezio's Codex: _The rest is up to you, Desmond._

Damn, this was some really heavy shit to lay on a guy for his very first mission.


End file.
